Chapter 55: Ai Da Jin Beats Gao Xiaosong

October 1, 1979.

On this day of national celebration, Peking University held a solemn flag-raising ceremony at the May Fourth Square.

Except those on duty, all campus security team members, including Wei Ming, were required to attend.

The national flag was raised, and the national anthem was played.

But many merely moved their lips mechanically—there were plenty of people faking it, as most were unfamiliar with the new lyrics.

The anthem was still called “March of the Volunteers,” but the lyrics had been revised just last year; the old version was deemed unsuitable for the current developmental climate.

For a long time before 1978, due to the lyricist’s status, the national anthem had been performed instrumentally only, without words.

But in two more years, the original lyrics would be restored; Wei Ming himself only learned to sing the original version when he was over twenty.

His lips moved mechanically, but his mind was still on the newspapers.

Yesterday he scoured every newsstand: five publications criticized “Duck Knows,” while only two praised it.

He had indeed become famous—but the kind of fame that came with backlash.

Some criticized the male lead’s cunning calculations, calling it capitalist thinking infiltrating the mind.

Others directly condemned the advertisement for deceiving the public and inciting unnecessary consumption.

Many also denounced the line: “Brave people enjoy the world first.”

One commentator in the “Workers’ Daily” wrote: “I hear a new phrase is trending among the youth: ‘Brave people enjoy the world first.’ This phrase is dangerously malicious. If everyone goes to enjoy life, who will build the Four Modernizations? Who will achieve the great rejuvenation of the nation? This is clearly hedonism—and absolutely unacceptable!”

Wei Ming now thought of it and almost laughed—heavy-handed name-calling was still their traditional skill, and it was 1979, not 1969!

Wei Ming wasn’t afraid, but it inevitably affected his mood.

Only when Qiao Feng called him over and took him to the Security Department, where a leader presented him with a commendation for bravery, did his spirits lift somewhat.

The award consisted mainly of a certificate of recognition and a watch voucher.

A practical benefit was his official confirmation—he would now earn 28 yuan per month, though last month’s salary wouldn’t be paid for several more days.

Holding the watch voucher and thinking of his over four hundred yuan in savings, Wei Ming felt a sudden urge to splurge; originally he’d planned to buy a watch under a hundred yuan, but now he was already considering a high-end Mudu brand.

But for the next two days he was on day shift, since he still wanted to visit the trust store; making a round trip into the city was too tight a schedule—he’d wait until his night shift in two days.

While patrolling, Wei Ming saw members of the May Fourth Literature Society—men and women—riding bicycles and tricycles loaded with copies of “Weiminghu” magazine, including Liang Zuo, who didn’t even greet him as “Uncle.”

Wei Ming smiled and asked: “Planning to set up stalls on campus to sell these?”

Zha Jianying chuckled: “Not just on campus—they’re going to sell them at Tsinghua, and even on the streets.”

Wei Ming said: “These aren’t official publications, are they? Is selling them legal?”

Liang Zuo, already nervous, quickly replied: “It’s not legal.”

So he hoped Wei Ming could persuade the girls to give up—couldn’t they just sell on campus?

Wei Ming replied: “Fine. If the police catch you, don’t resist—go quietly with them. Tell them to be nice: call the young ones ‘Uncle,’ the older ones ‘Big Dad,’ then call our Security Department—we’ll come pick you up.”

Liang Zuo: “...”

The girls happily agreed—they loved how Wei Ming spoke.

Because it was National Day, even the stragglers like Biaozi and Xiao Mei had gone out onto the streets; the campus was empty, and during patrol with his senior, Wei Ming found neither people nor trouble.

He was just about to sit down and rest when trouble arrived.

Professor Feng stumbled over, trembling: “Mei’er—Mei’er is gone!”

It wasn’t even spring yet, and his Mei’er was already restless—destined to be lured away by some hoodlum.

Wei Ming told his senior to take Feng Lao back, while he went to find the cat himself—he had a natural affinity for cats and dogs, unlike those bratty kids who scared them off.

After finding Mei’er in Jingchun Garden, Wei Ming personally returned the cat to Professor Feng; Feng’s daughter Zong Pu was also there—many had likely studied her essay “The Wisteria Waterfall.”

This woman, in her fifties, had a daughter under ten beside her.

She recognized Wei Ming and comforted him: “You’re Wei Ming, right? Don’t mind those criticisms in the papers—your novel is well written.”

It seemed “Duck Knows” had stirred up quite a stir—even she knew about it. Wei Ming had only just seen those newspapers yesterday; he was late to the news.

He thanked Teacher Zong Pu, then bid farewell to Professor Feng and Mei’er.

Professor Feng looked puzzled at his daughter: “You know this young man?”

Zong Pu picked up today’s new campus magazine, pointing to the poem “Ideal” on the front page: “You just praised his poem.”

“What? He wrote that?!” The old man was stunned.

After finishing his work in the afternoon, Wei Ming began packing his belongings.

“Children’s Literature,” “Weiminghu,” two campus magazines, three issues of “Wenhui Daily,” the bravery commendation, a bottle of ginseng-cinnamon tonic wine—these were enough for Old Wei. But what to buy for his mother? Too bad he had no storage space; otherwise he’d have brought her a sewing machine.

After thinking for a while with no clear idea, Wei Ming simply pulled out paper and pen and wrote: “The Legend of Tian Shu” (adapted from “Pingyao Zhuan”), then began his solitary, enjoyable creation.

He ate dinner alone at the long-neglected faculty cafeteria; today all the students were out celebrating, and no one invited him.

Back in his dorm, he heard from Biaozi and Xiao Mei that Tsinghua was holding a bonfire party tonight.

“You going?” Biaozi coaxed. Xiao Mei had night shift; only Wei Ming could accompany him.

Wei Ming had just finished writing the character profiles for “Dan Sheng” and “Yuan Gong,” and was about to write the three foxes.

But then he thought—he’d been here a month and had never visited Tsinghua, and he wanted to soak in the National Day spirit—so he nodded.

“Alright then.”

Biaozi was still good at socializing—he’d already befriended the Tsinghua gatekeeper and gave him a friendly nod as they entered.

Out of professional habit, Wei Ming immediately assessed the bonfire party for safety and fire hazards.

!

Hmm—it was held in the open space before the Grand Auditorium, and close to a water source—perfect.

The bonfire party was crowded; young men and women sang and danced, some even played guitar and sang.

Were Tsinghua students this adept at attracting the opposite sex through music these days?

But there were far too few girls—better to hold a bonfire party at Peking University with a guitar and just be tough enough to take the hits.

And they were singing mostly red songs—no Deng Lijun’s “decadent tunes” at all—this wouldn’t work.

After watching for a while, neither of them joined in the dancing.

Biaozi couldn’t dance; Wei Ming’s mindset hadn’t fully adjusted—he felt such behavior wasn’t dignified enough.

So they left the bonfire party, and Biaozi took Wei Ming on a tour of Tsinghua campus.

As they walked, they reached the vicinity of Jinchun Garden and saw a slightly chubby little boy cornering a thin, milk-white cat by the river, throwing pebbles at it.

Wei Ming immediately stepped forward and shouted: “Hey, what are you doing?!”

The chubby boy was arrogant: “Mind your own business!”

Wei Ming patiently reasoned: “If you’re stronger than it, you can bully it—then if we’re stronger than you, can we bully you?”

“You dare bully me?” The boy stuck out his waist. “Do you know who I am? My grandpa is the Tsinghua president!”

Oh!

Biaozi stepped back in alarm.

Wei Ming looked at the boy’s still-roundish face and felt a strange sense of familiarity.

He stepped forward and asked: “May I ask your young master’s surname?”

Seeing Wei Ming intimidated, the boy grew even more boastful: “I’m Gao.”

Biaozi muttered a curse: "Damn!"—so this was Gao Yamen's son.

Hearing the curse, the defiant boy retorted: “Ce na!”—he’d grown up in Mudu until age seven.

“What did he say?” Biaozi asked.

Wei Ming, who understood a bit, replied: “An insult.”

Seeing Biaozi’s face turn red with suppressed rage, Wei Ming whispered: “Let’s beat him up.”

Biaozi hesitated: “Not good—he’s the president’s grandson.”

“Probably bluffing. And it’s dark, no one’s around.”

That stoked Biaozi’s inner malice—he couldn’t beat Yanzi, but could he not beat this fat kid?

So they moved in: Wei Ming blocked the escape, Biaozi grabbed the boy. The ten-year-old was no match for Biaozi, who pinned him on his knees and gave him two light slaps on the buttocks.

Actually, he didn’t hit hard—just scared him—but the boy burst into tears.

Biaozi quickly let go and prepared to flee.

“Bullying a child—what kind of hero are you? If you’ve got guts, leave your names!” The boy clutched his butt, eyes full of tears, still shouting.

Wei Ming had a sudden idea and pointed at Biaozi: “He’s called Ai Da Jin. Remember that!”

Then they ran off!

…

(Considering the little fat boy got beaten—please vote for monthly tickets!)

(End of Chapter)